More than Almost
by Alaska829Snow
Summary: Emma suspects Regina is going through something serious and wants to get to the bottom of it. Trigger warning: ED


**Please, please note: trigger warning for eating disorders. As someone in recovery, this story was extremely cathartic to write. I tried to stay honest to both characters and I really hope you'll enjoy. All mistakes are mine.**

* * *

Emma glides up the walkway to 108 Mifflin Street.

Because it's Thursday night.

And Thursday night is _their_ night; it has been, ever since they got back from Neverland. She no longer even remembers how it started—just that she always finds herself looking forward to it.

Emma once called it 'Swan-Mills night,' which earned her an awkward look from her son and a five minute rant from Regina about how it is _"preposterous_" that Emma assumes her name would go first in the entirely hypothetical-hyphenation.

Either way, Emma is excited. Because tonight is their (nameless) night and Henry is overly enthusiastic about some sci-fi film they're going to see.

Emma lets herself in the house—as uncharacteristic as it is, Regina leaves the door open for her on Thursdays. It's not like anyone else comes over, frankly. And Regina and Henry are usually waiting for her by the stairs, the former with her car keys already in hand.

But tonight Emma doesn't find anyone in the foyer at all—it's her first sign that something is array.

"Hey, kid," Emma greets her son as she walks into the kitchen. "Where's your mom?"

"Upstairs," Henry whines, and barely looks up from whatever portable game system Regina gave him last week. "And I think she's in a bad mood."

"Why?" Emma asks, tentatively. "Did I do something?"

"Not_ all_ her moods are about you," he replies, looking up with a smirk. "I don't know; she just told me to wait down here."

"Alright, then…I guess we'll wait down here until she's ready."

"_No_," Henry complains, "we're going to be late."

"So, uh, go tell her to hurry up?"

"_You_ tell her."

"Me? You're her kid."

"But you're a girl," he rebuts and scrunches his nose. "And she's probably getting dressed."

"I think barging into her room while she's getting ready is probably a death wish. And if I die we will definitely miss the movie."

"We don't have time to argue about this!"

"Alright, alright," she gives in, all too easily. It's what she does, after all, when it comes to Henry. "Relax, I'll check on her."

"Hurry up! We're going to be late!"

"No," she promises him as she marches up the stairs. "We're _not_ going to be late."

* * *

Emma knocks on Regina's bedroom door.

"Hello?" She calls out. "It's me, Emma."

She hears nothing in response. She doesn't even hear footsteps.

"Regina?"

Now, she's worried.

And it's sort of ridiculous how quickly she begins to panic. She half expects Regina to be kidnapped or something equally as horrible. She has to remind herself that Greg and Tamara are dead.

"You're not answering me, so I'm coming in," she announces. "Like, now."

Emma opens the door and looks around the room. She doesn't see Regina or anyone else for that matter. What she does see is a giant mess: clothes scattered everywhere—especially on the bed. There are _so _many clothes on the bed.

Her heart sinks into the pit of her stomach. Because Regina is obsessive-compulsively neat and this clutter is completely out of the norm. She's starting to wonder if someone could've climbed through the window and robbed the upstairs floor of this house. But it doesn't really look like anything has been taken.

_"Shit,"_ Regina mutters, as she bumps into Emma from behind and pulls the blonde out of her cynical thoughts. "What the hell are you doing in here?"

"I'm sorry," Emma blurts out in confusion and relief as she spins around so that they're face to face. She looks at Regina who is still in her robe. "Henry said you were upset and I came to check on you and then I knocked a bunch of times and you didn't answer and I got worried you fell in the shower or got robbed or died or something."

"Oh, I didn't hear you. I was in the bathroom."

Emma is surprised that the explanation works so easily. She is surprised that Regina has yet to push her out the door and tell her to mind her own business and never step foot in the room again.

But maybe she shouldn't be surprised. Because things have been different since they got home. Suddenly they are getting along; suddenly they are friends, co-parents, allies.

"Are you alright, though? Are you sick?"

"I have nothing to wear."

"_That's_ why you're in a bad mood?" Emma laughs and feels herself relax; a wardrobe crisis is certainly manageable compared to what they've experienced in the past. "Regina, there are more clothes on your bed than I own."

"And, yet, I still have _nothing_ to wear."

"We're just going to a movie," Emma reasons. She glances down at her own attire: a long-sleeve white t-shirt, black sweats and sneakers. "As you can see, I look like I just came from the gym."

"You look..." Regina sighs as she slowly eyes Emma up and down. "You somehow always look nice."

"Henry is downstairs pacing," the savior changes the subject—because she feels Regina's gaze linger and she's not sure how to handle the pseudo-compliment she just received. Nor is it the time to wonder why it makes her feel so damn good. "We need to leave now and by 'now' I actually mean five minutes ago."

"Yes, I know, I'm trying."

"Well, you're going to have to try a little harder because our son is about to have a nervous breakdown."

"Nothing fits me," Regina mumbles. "All of these clothes look bad on me."

It's only then that Emma notices that this doesn't seem to be a manageable crisis to Regina at all. In fact, she can read the stress all over the brunette's face. She notices flushed cheeks and tense muscles.

"Seriously? You look good in everything."

"You're just saying that so we'll leave."

"I mean, I want to leave, but it's also true. I've never seen you look bad."

"Please, don't patronize me."

"Uh, I'm serious. Even in Neverland, you still managed to look better than all of us."

"That is _not _true."

"Look," Emma tries a new approach, "I know you don't want to be the reason why Henry misses this movie, right? He's been talking about it non-stop for months and he loves when we all hang out together."

Regina sits down on the bed, on top of a pile of clothes, and closes her eyes. Before Emma knows what is happening, she hears two, barely audible, words: _"Help me."_

"Wait, what?"

"I can't do this. Please, help me."

"Help you?" Emma asks—she is utterly baffled by the situation she finds herself in and is merely waiting for someone to jump out of the closet and tell her she's being punk'd. "Help you pick out your clothes?"

"Forget it."

"No, no, I can help," Emma understands that this is real now—and she wants to make it right, wants to pass this test. She approaches the bed and picks up a pair of dark skinny jeans that she is sure Regina will look smoking in. "Wear these."

"Not jeans; I can't do jeans."

"Why the hell not?"

"Do we really have time for me to explain?"

"No," Emma accepts. "Just...wear these leggings with your red sweater, then. You look really great in this sweater. Oh, and your tan coat. I saw that downstairs, yeah?"

"Thank you," Regina agrees, stands up and takes the clothes into her own hands. "I'll meet you and Henry in the car."

"Sure...where are your keys?"

"You can drive tonight."

"You want _me_ to drive us to the movies? In the bug?"

"Is that a problem? I'm not in the mood to drive."

"It's not a problem; you're just starting to freak me out a little bit."

"I'll meet you in the car," Regina repeats.

"Alright, but you have two minutes."

"I'll be there in one and a half."

* * *

It is _exactly_ one and a half minutes before Regina, looking entirely immaculate, opens the passenger door of the bug and climbs into the front seat.

"I'm sorry, Henry," are the first words out of her mouth. "That took longer than I expected."

"It's cool," he tells her. "Emma drives fast enough that we will still be on time."

Emma cringes at the comment and waits for Regina to go off on some lecture about speeding with the kid in the car. But no such scolding comes. Regina's attention is focused elsewhere—on Henry. And if she is still upset, she shows no signs of it.

"I'm quite excited," Regina tells their son. "Who is the main actor again? What other movies has he been in?"

Emma tries to shake off the strange feeling she has building up inside of her.

She starts the car and begins to drive.

* * *

Emma is somewhat annoyed.

Because she just sat through a two and a half hour movie and she has no idea what it was even about.

It was a movie she wanted to see, too. But instead of watching the movie, she spent two and a half hours watching Regina.

Because, really, what the hell was that back at the house?

She feels like some sort of alarm is going off in her head—telling her that she should be on high alert.

Which is why, at the diner, Emma watches Regina some more as Henry talks about a field trip that's coming up in a few weeks.

Emma hears Regina say that she will gladly sign his permission slip. She can tell just how happy Regina is that Henry _wants _her signature and it sort of melts Emma's heart.

Ruby comes over and takes their plates away.

Over the last twenty-five minutes, Regina took exactly four bites of her salad—Emma knows because she counted. "You weren't hungry?"

"I'm sorry?"

"It's just that you didn't eat any of our extra large popcorn. And you didn't really eat dinner, either."

"Mom doesn't like that much butter on her popcorn," Henry explains. "I tried to tell you that before you poured it on."

"I mean I totally get it," Emma acknowledges not everyone has her tastes. "But, still."

"I also had a big lunch."

"You don't usually eat a big lunch. You usually just have yogurt and coffee."

"Stalker," Henry teases and snorts. "Stop stalking my mom, Emma."

"Thanks a lot, kid."

"I had a lunch meeting and there was a lot of food," Regina calmly rationalizes.

"Okay," Emma_ senses_ the lie. But, more than that, she has proof it's a lie. Because when there is a meeting at Town Hall, she always knows. She always sees the food as it passes by her office—because she always makes a mental note to check for leftovers.

She knows there were no deliveries to Town Hall today. But she doesn't push it in front of Henry.

Maybe Regina knows she's been caught. Maybe that's why she suddenly stands up from the table. "I should probably be going."

"You don't want to stay for dessert?" Emma asks and it suddenly feels reminiscent of the 'welcome home' party; the night she chased after Regina outside this very diner.

"I'm fine, dear, thank you. You two enjoy your ice cream."

"We will" Henry assures her. "I'm glad you liked the movie, mom."

"And I'm glad you had fun; have a good day at school tomorrow. I'll see you for dinner?"

"Yes, you will."

"I love you, Henry."

"I love you, too."

Regina kisses him on the top of his head.

She nods in Emma's direction.

And then she is gone.

* * *

Emma is really bad at letting things go. Really, really bad. She knows she should probably leave Regina alone, but she just can't. After all, Regina essentially asked Emma to dress her—and then she lied about her lunch.

She opens her phone, scrolls to Regina's name, and types out a text:

**Emma: R we gonna talk about tn?**

She receives an immediate response.

**Regina: ?**

It's just like Regina, she thinks, to pretend nothing happened.

**Emma: U r being really weird. **

**Regina: You are being paranoid. **

It's just like Regina, she thinks, to throw it back on _her._

**Emma: U r hiding something.**

**Regina: I am not. **

She can picture the face Regina is making; the challenging, determined face.

**Emma: Don't shut me out now. **

In a weird way, Emma sometimes wants things to be like they were on that boat. Because on the Jolly Roger, Regina _had_ to talk to her. Now Regina can hide in the mansion and reject her calls when she's feeling scared.

She knows Regina is scared a lot. Emma is scared, too. That's why Regina is the only person in this town she can _truly_ relate to. She learned that the same night she learned Regina's _real _story. It had taken a lot of rum and tears. But it had all come out that night.

Sometimes Emma wishes it was her parents she could relate to. Because, God, she loves them. And her life would be a hell of a lot easier if she could relate to them. But it's Regina who she sees herself in the most.

**Regina: It's late. I'm going to bed. **

**Emma: Fine. Goodnight. **

As much as she wants one, there's no use waiting for a response. She knows the battle is lost for tonight.

And maybe she shouldn't try again tomorrow.

But she knows that she will.

She wanders out into the living room—and finds her mother sitting on the couch, nose in a book.

"Mary-Margaret?"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"I have, uh, sort of a weird question that I want to ask you."

"Ask away," her mom says as she puts down her reading material.

Emma sits on the couch and tries to make herself comfortable. But under this roof, she knows the former-evil-queen is _never_ a comfortable subject. "It's about Regina, actually."

"Oh," Snow's outward demeanor seems to stiffen but her voice remains steady. "Go ahead."

"So you, like, lived with her for a while, right? In the palace, or whatever. When she was married?"

"I did."

"Right, so," Emma struggles to string her thoughts together. "I'm sorry; I don't really know how to phrase my question."

"Try? I promise I won't judge you if it comes out weird."

"Alright—so…was Regina ever an insecure person?"

"Insecure?"

"About her looks, I guess, is what I mean."

"If she was, she didn't act that way in front of me."

"Oh, yeah, got it."

"Regina has always had a way of putting on a mask for the world, though. And, let's face it, if she had insecurities, she would never have come to _me_ to talk about them."

"I just thought maybe you...I don't know."

"You also have to keep in mind that Regina was raised by Cora. I can't imagine what ideas that woman put in her head. I honestly wouldn't be surprised if she had a lot of insecurities."

"True," Emma considers. "That's a good point."

"Where is this coming from? Did something happen?"

"Something happened," she confirms. "But I'm not really sure what, exactly."

"Do you want to tell me?"

"Yeah," she admits. And it surprises her how much she _does _want to talk about her strange night. She sort of wants to curl up next to her mom and drink hot chocolate and tell her all about the way Regina makes her confused and frustrated and happy all at once. The happy part, in particular—that's a new one—and most days it just leads to more confusion and frustration. "But I can't."

"Why not?" Mary-Margaret frowns.

"Because I'm not sure it's any of my business. But I know it's definitely not yours."

"I understand."

"Yeah?"

"You have a different relationship with Regina than I do. You have to keep her trust. I get it."

"Thank you, though...for the offer to talk."

"Let me know if you need anything else or if you change your mind."

Emma gets up and begins to walk away. But she pauses—she has one last question. "It's just that...if Regina asked me for help...if she sort of reached out to me a little bit...does it _become_ my business?"

"Emma, it's really hard for me to give advice when you're being this vague."

"Yeah, of course, I know."

"But, based on what you are saying," Snow continues, "you should know that Regina doesn't ask for help easily. So if she asked you, even if she only 'sort of' asked you, I wouldn't take that lightly."

"Thanks, mom."

Emma walks back to her room and plops down on the bed.

She glances at her phone.

She has not one, but four, new messages from Regina.

She nearly falls off the bed grabbing the device from her nightstand.

**Regina: Thank you for your concern.  
Regina: It is appreciated but unnecessary. **

**Regina: I had a bad day until the movie.  
Regina: Sleep well. **

Emma breaks out into a spontaneous grin.

**Emma: U r welcome :)**

**Emma: Sorry about your bad day, I hope u at least had fun tonight. **

**Emma: See u 2m.**

* * *

Emma doesn't know why exactly the Sheriff's cruiser seems to drive itself to Archie's office first thing the next morning. But it does and she has no intention of stopping it.

She knocks on the familiar door and within seconds Archie appears.

"Emma," he welcomes her. "How are you?"

"Hey—I'm good. Can I come in?"

"Of course," he watches as she paces around the room like she's searching for evidence. "Did something happening?"

"Oh, no, don't worry. I'm not here on official business."

"Is Henry alright?"

"Yeah, he's good."

"And is everything alright with _you_?"

"I'm fine."

"Please don't take this the wrong way," he prefaces, "but what _are _you doing here, then?"

"Can't the Sheriff just stop by to say a friendly 'Hello' to the town shrink?"

"Sure," he agrees. "But not usually at eight-thirty in the morning, and not usually on shift. Plus, you seem anxious."

She_ is_ anxious—crazy amounts of anxious. So, she cuts right to the chase: "Does Regina still come to see you?"

"Emma," Archie's face freezes, "you know that I can't speak to you about any of my patients. And you also know I nearly lost Regina's trust for good the last time you and I talked about her."

"I know...I'm just...I'm a little desperate here."

"Why is that?"

"Can't you just tell me if she still comes to talk to you?"

"Doctor-patient confidentially."

"Well, does that mean you _have_ doctor-patient confidentially with her?"

He nods, reluctantly. But Emma wins because no one in this town says no to the savior. And she knows it.

"Great, okay, good," she replies. If Regina is still coming to Archie, she figures, she has to at least be safe—and maybe, just maybe, she's talking to him about whatever is going on.

"Are you fighting with Regina?"

"No, we're good," Emma tells him as she sits down on his couch. "I'm just...I'm sort of worried about her. And I don't really know what to do about it."

"Why are you worried?"

"I have this suspicion that she's not doing so well at the moment."

"What makes you think that?"

"I just…I have a feeling."

"A feeling?"

"Yes," Emma nods. "And the last time I had a feeling it was that something was off with Tamara. So, I need you to understand that I take my instincts very seriously."

"I take your instincts seriously, too."

"Maybe you can just keep an eye out? I don't know who else, besides me, will."

"I'll be happy to, Emma," Archie promises her. "But can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Why is it that you feel so responsible for Regina that you came to my office first thing in the morning? Why is it that you 'keep an eye out' for her?"

"I don't know," she says, honestly. "She's Henry mom. And we, uh, went through a lot together in the past few months. A lot of shit went down in Neverland."

"You care about her?"

"She's Henry's mom. She helped me save his life."

"Apart from that," Archie challenges, "do you s_till _care about her? Do you care about her as Regina? Not just as Henry's mom?"

Suddenly, Emma flashes back to the mines. _Let me die as Regina, _she hears.

"I mean, yeah, I do. I care about her as just Regina."

"I'm glad to hear that, because she deserves it. I care about her well-being, too. But she insists it's only because she pays me too. Most people don't see how hard she is trying but..."

"I see it. I see her."

"This feeling you have?" He presses her for more information. "Is there anything in particular that I should be looking out for?"

"Uh, maybe...I don't know, negative thoughts about herself?"

"That's not out of the ordinary for her, unfortunately."

"Then...um—God, I don't know…but, maybe, weight loss?"

"Oh?" The shocked look on Archie's face makes it clear to Emma that the thought never would've crossed his mind—so much for her theory that Regina is already talking. "Is she not eating?"

"I'm not sure. But please don't ask her about it directly or anything because she'll know...she'll know that it came from me. But, I don't know, I needed to tell someone."

"I'll do my best to help her with whatever she's going through."

"Thanks, Archie."

"You better be getting back to your shift."

"Right, yeah," she stands up, ready to leave. "Have a good rest of your day."

* * *

Emma shows up at Regina's doorstep on Saturday morning with Henry at her side and a pizza pie in her hands.

Regina answers and Henry immediately rushes by her into the house with a brief _"Hey, mom!"_

"It's your weekend with him," Regina looks to Emma for answers. "Isn't it? Or did I screw up the calendar somehow?"

"It's totally my weekend," Emma confirms her suspicion. "But the thing is… he likes doing his homework better here...more space and much more quiet. And he's got some big paper to work on."

"His history paper, yes."

Of course, Emma thinks—of course Regina knows exactly what paper their son has to write this weekend.

"So, uh, I brought him here...and I brought a pizza. And I thought maybe we could eat lunch and then I could leave him here? Because I don't really want to be the reason he doesn't get an A on this thing."

"You know I love when he's here, even if he's just doing homework. We can trade weekends, if you want? Or I can bring him back to you in the morning...so you still have your Sunday together?"

"Nah, I'm not going to make you trade or anything. It's not your fault I live in a tiny apartment with parents who never shut up."

"Very well."

"So can I come in, then?"

"Yes, of course."

"Henry said you like pepperoni," Emma says as she follows her into the kitchen. "That kind of surprised me but I figured he knows you the best."

"Henry knows me quite well—and you bringing this was a lovely gesture," Regina smiles appreciatively. "But I already ate lunch."

"Why?"

"What do you mean why? Because it's the middle of the afternoon? I ate lunch two hours ago."

"Alright, so it can be an afternoon snack for you."

"You are welcome to enjoy your pizza with Henry before he does his work—and you're welcome to stay as long as you want if your apartment is feeling particularly crowded today."

Emma doesn't hear the warm invitation—all she really hears is that Regina isn't going to eat. She yells without thinking through the consequences: "Why won't you eat the goddamn pizza I brought you?"

"I would advise you to lower your voice," Regina remains composed, though she is quite startled by Emma's unexpected outburst. "Why are you yelling at me?"

"Why can't you eat a slice of pizza?"

"Not all of us have your metabolism, dear."

"_Me_?" Emma huffs. "You're tiny. And I know that, for a fact, because I've seen you naked."

"You have _not_ seen me naked," Regina denies the claim. "And be quiet—God forbid Henry hears you say that."

"I did, too. On the Jolly Roger."

"When?" The former-queen demands, as she crosses her arms across her chest.

"We shared a bunk for three weeks; you changed in front of me a million times."

"I specifically told you not to look."

"Yeah, well, you're hot," Emma blurts out. "And I looked. So, sue me. Don't try to change the subject."

For a moment, Regina is silent. And Emma hopes that she is about to open up—just like that night on the Jolly Roger. But the savior notices the fire in Regina's eyes—and she knows they're headed for something much different.

"Get out," Regina snarls. "Get out of my house, _now_."

"Excuse me?

"Leave."

"Regina, no, come on."

She can't believe that they can revert so quickly. And this wasn't, at all, how she wanted the afternoon or the conversation to go.

"You're not better than me, Emma."

"Wait, what? Of course I'm not? I'm not trying to be better than you?"

"Stop trying to fix me. Stop trying to find problems where there aren't any."

"I'm not trying to..."

"Perhaps it's been a month since anyone needed you to _'save'_ them, little princess Charming. But do not come over here looking for something to keep you busy."

"You have seriously got this all wrong," Emma pleads. "I swear, you do."

"I'm _not_ your next project. We're done here."

"No, we're not done here."

"Those who set the rules win the game. You don't get to set the rules in my house."

"What rules? What game? We're on the same fucking team."

"That is _not_ the way you're acting," Regina spits out at her. "Now, get out."

"You're infuriating," she yells back.

And then, in what is surely her most childish move to date, Emma pushes the pizza pie off the counter and storms of the house as it falls to the floor.

* * *

Henry requested a trip to the Library to pick up some more books and Regina figures she has at least a half hour before she has to go back and get him. She can only hope that is enough time to pull herself together after the debacle that occurred at her house.

She knows, for certain, she cannot achieve that alone. So, she knocks on Archie's door silently begging he has time to see her.

"Regina," Archie opens up and looks at her with concerned eyes. "Hey."

"We don't have an appointment," she tells him through her tears. Because even in her state, she still respects the rules. "I didn't make one for today."

"That's alright," he assures her. "Please, come in. You're always welcome here."

"I don't understand her."

"Who?"

"She is entirely impossible and she is always in my face and I hate her."

_"Who?" _He repeats.

"Emma."

"Sit down," Archie instructs—and she follows his direction. "What happened?"

"She pushed a pizza off my counter!"

"Why did she do that?"

"I don't know, because she's _insane_," Regina rants. "She won't leave me alone. She won't stay out of my business. She always thinks I need her help and I _don't_ need a savior. I can take care of myself—she's not the only one who grew up without parents to take care of her. And she was cocky enough before she realized she had true love bubbling around inside of her. Now she is unbearable."

"I see," he processes the tirade. "What, exactly, does Emma think you need her help with?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Then you don't have to talk about it."

"But I'm wasting your time."

"You're not, Regina. And you'll talk when you're ready to talk."

"I can't stop crying," she complains, as if her tear ducts are purposely betraying her.

"That's perfectly normal."

"I'm quite certain it is not normal at all."

"Would it be alright if _I _talked and you just listened?"

"Very well," she agrees. "Go on."

"Emma cares about you—and I'm not saying this as your doctor. I'm saying this as someone who lives in this town and watches the two of you interact on a daily basis. I know you think she has some dark, twisted motive behind trying to be your friend but I really don't think she does. I think she is genuinely trying to be someone you can count on."

Regina wants to agree—but something is holding her back.

_He's not yours; he's mine, she hears. _

_You're not getting anywhere near him, she hears._

_We know how you are and who you will always be, she hears. _

"Maybe."

"You are very careful about who you trust," Archie continues. "And that is understandable, considering what you've been through. I get that Emma's family also doesn't have a great track record with earning your trust. But I think you can trust her."

Regina wants to disagree-but something is holding her back.

_She's not dying, she hears. _

_Let her go, she hears. _

_You may not be strong enough but maybe we are, she hears. _

"Maybe."

"For today, I'll take two maybes."

* * *

Snow White walks into her apartment and finds Emma sulking on the couch.

"What's wrong?"

"Why does she _always_ do that?"

"Regina?" Mary-Margaret immediately concludes—there's no one else who could illicit such a reaction from her daughter. "We're talking about Regina, right?"

"Why does she always let me in just enough so that I feel something only to literally shove me back to the starting line?"

"Regina has a lot of walls up—I can only assume she thinks you're going to hurt her."

"But I'm not!" Emma shrieks. "Not every person who lives and breathes has some grand plan to take down Regina Mills."

"Well," Mary-Margaret sits down next to her daughter. "If I had to guess, I think she would argue that everyone she has ever trusted has betrayed her and hurt her."

"Yeah—whatever—look, everyone has hurt me, too. I mean _she_ hurt me the second I popped out of the womb."

_Exactly—_Snow wants to scream it from the rooftop. She wants to talk her daughter out of this ridiculous budding relationship. But how can she? Not when their friendship would benefit her grandson immensely. So she merely sticks to the facts. "Yes, she did."

"Right, but you don't see me running away like a scared little girl."

"Running away from what, exactly?" Snow asks—though she's not even sure she wants to know the answer anymore.

"Whatever," Emma groans. "It doesn't matter—'cause I hate her."

"I don't think you do."

"Still doesn't give her the right to kick me out of her house for bringing her a pizza."

"She did _what_?"

"Forget it," Emma stands up—signaling the conversation is over. "It's a long story."

* * *

When Emma is alone in her bedroom her mother's words finally sink in.

And she realizes she went about this all wrong. She feels guilty and horrible and moronic.

Because if something _is _really up with Regina, the last thing she needed was to be yelled at. Emma, unintentionally, put Regina on the defense.

She picks up her cell phone and dial's Regina's number.

It's a high risk move but she prays it will also have a high reward.

It rings once and goes straight to voicemail.

Regina rejected her call—which means Regina has her phone in her hand.

She types out a text.

**Emma: I'm sorry.**

And, boy, does she mean it.

**Regina: Don't be.**

Emma doesn't know how to interpret the response—she's not sure if Regina is telling her to fuck off or that she's sorry, too.

**Emma: I am though. **

She hopes maybe they can talk now. But, instead, Regina bypasses the subject entirely.

**Regina: Henry finished his paper. **

For now, Emma decides, she will let it slide.

**Emma: How'd it turn out?**

**Regina: Very well. I proof-read it. **

**Emma: Cool. Maybe he'll let me read it.**

**Regina: I'm sure he will.**

She could probably just let it go—they could go on pretending the whole day never happened. But Emma isn't really comfortable with that. So, she does what she does best: push.

**Emma: Are we still fighting? **

**Regina: No. **

**Emma: Thank God. I hate being on your bad side. **

**Regina: I had to clean up sauce and cheese from my kitchen floor. I wouldn't say you're on my good side.**

**Emma: Not one of my more mature moments. **

**Regina: You have mature moments?**

**Emma: Hysterical. But today I deserve it. **

**Regina: Goodnight. Sleep well. **

As long as they're not fighting anymore, Emma thinks she just might sleep well, indeed.

* * *

Half-way to the bus-stop on Monday morning Henry realized he left his books at Regina's house on the weekend.

Emma, who was walking with him, now stands in the upstairs hallway of the mansion wishing a certain brunette was home.

But, no such luck—the Mayor is already at work.

"You really have to start getting better at knowing where your stuff is, kid."

"How is this_ my_ fault?"

"That _you_ left _your _textbooks here? Gee, I don't know—if it's not your fault, whose fault is it?"

The way the question comes out—she can hear Regina's voice in her own. If she's picking up anyone's parenting style, it's certainly not her own mother's.

"I have two houses! It gets confusing."

"Yeah, alright, fine. Maybe your mom can make doubles of everything you have. Is there a magic version of a copy machine?"

"I'm going to miss the bus," he whizzes past her books now in hand and heads for the stairs. "Can you lock up for me?"

"Uh, sure," she calls after him. "Have a good day!"

When Henry is gone, Emma realizes that she hasn't actually ever been alone in this house.

And instead of going downstairs she finds herself walking towards Regina's bedroom.

This morning, the room is perfectly clean—no scattered clothes to be found.

Maybe Regina was just having a bad night last week.

Maybe she really just was too full for pizza.

Maybe Emma literally made this whole thing up in her head.

Maybe, she thinks, she's the one who needs to spend more time with Archie.

She sits down on the bed and opens the drawer of Regina's nightstand. There's a mother's day card and other notes from Henry. She almost brings herself to read them. But she doesn't.

She moseys into the bathroom next.

And this is definitely now a total invasion of privacy.

There is no question she is abusing her power.

She is resting on the knowledge that no one will arrest her.

She opens the cabinet.

A jar of some sort of sparkly purple liquid is sitting on the second shelf.

Emma takes it into her hands and just _knows._

For a moment the feeling was gone, but now she is certain it is back.

* * *

Emma barrels into Mr. Gold's shop. She looks around to see if she's his only customer. When she realizes that she is, she shouts at him: "I need something from you."

"Ms. Swan," he greets her casually. "It's lovely to see you, too."

"I need you to tell me what this is," she holds up the stolen jar. "Now."

"Looks like magic to me, dearie."

"Yeah, no shit," she rolls her eyes as she walks over to the counter. "I need you to tell me what kind of magic. I need you to tell me what this spell does."

"Why don't you ask your lovely magical-mentor?"

"Because it's hers and she doesn't know I have it."

"Ah," the confession seems to finally earn her his attention. "Don't tell me there is trouble in paradise, already?"

She's about to bite his head off because she _so_ does not have time for his crap. But Neal suddenly walks out and interrupts them.

"Emma, hey, I thought I heard your voice. Is everything okay?"

"No, I need your father's help and he's being an asshole about it."

"Give Emma whatever she wants," Neal instructs, "with_ no _strings attached."

Gold appears somewhere between awkward, amused and conflicted and Emma thinks that's a new combination for him.

"Even if it's about Regina?" The dark-one asks his son.

"Yeah, even if it's about Regina," Neal confirms. "I've come to accept it."

"Accept what?" Emma questions— she is not particularly enjoying listening to them talk about her as if she's not in the room.

"That with you," Neal clarifies, "it's _always _about Regina."

"Huh?"

"Come on, don't make me say it. I'm being as cool as I can be about it, but I need you to not push it."

"Neal, I literally have no idea what you're talking about."

"Right, sure, whatever," he gives in, sensing it's not the time. "Look, Dad, just help her."

"Fine," Gold agrees. "Hand it over, then."

Gold takes the jar—he opens it—he sniffs it. Immediately, he coughs.

"This is a simple gagging spell," he informs her when he catches his breath. "It's a far cry from her poison apple days but still painful in the right circumstances."

"What you're saying is that this spell makes people sick? Like vomit-sick?"

"Precisely," Gold tells her. "Is there someone Regina wants to see sick?"

"Yeah," Emma understands right away. "I think there definitely is."

* * *

Emma sits on Regina's bed, waiting for her to come home. She physically hates how right she was all along and is certain that the gloating session about to occur will be the most painful gloating of her life.

When Regina walks in, briefcase in hand, she looks like she's had another shitty day. And even though Emma wants to make this easy—she knows that with Regina, sometimes tough love is the best route.

"Emma?" Regina looks confused, but not particularly startled at her presence. "Are you going to make a habit of showing up in my bedroom uninvited?"

"So," she confidently holds up the purple jar, "this isn't exactly the day to joke with me."

"Where did you get that?"

"Oh, you know, your bathroom."

"You went through my stuff?" Regina struts over to Emma and grabs the bottle out of the blonde's hands. "How dare you—who the hell do you think you are? How did you even get in here? Did Henry give you the key?"

"That spell," Emma ignores every last question, "it makes you throw up."

"No, it doesn't."

"Fuck you for lying to me," she spits out. "Did Neverland _seriously_ not change the way you look at me? Do you really feel like you still have to lie to me all of the goddamn time? I so thought we were passed this."

"Neverland changed everything," Regina snaps back, "and you know it."

"I already asked Gold what that crap is."

"You went through my bathroom, stole from me and went to Gold behind my back?"

"I needed to make sure you were okay."

"And _that's_ how you went about it?"

"I tried to talk to you like a hundred times."

"You expect me to trust you when you continuously pull stunts like this? This is exactly why I _can't _talk to you."

"You can't turn this one around on me—I was trying, so hard, to have your back and make sure you're alright."

"I'm fine."

"You know," Emma chuckles darkly, "you actually fooled me last night into believing that you _are_ fine. You had me thinking I was wrong and I felt pretty shitty about it."

"I'm not sure what you're accusing me of but I can assure you that you are, indeed, wrong."

"So you're not using this to make yourself throw up, then?"

"No," Regina insists. "I'm not."

"What the fuck?" Emma stands up and now they're eye-to-eye, faces inches apart. "Yes, you are. I've had such a sick feeling about this since the night we went to the movies."

"No."

"You can keep saying that but I'm not moving from this spot until you admit it."

"No," Regina repeats—and Emma watches her eyes gloss up.

"I can literally stay here all fucking day."

"Stop."

"No."

"Please," Regina whimpers. "Emma."

"Please, what?

"Please don't use this against me."

The statement is said so weakly and desperate that Emma doesn't know what, exactly, to make of it. "Against you? What?"

"Emma," Regina begs, "please don't take him away from me because of this. I won't let anything bad touch him ever again, myself included. I take good care of him, I really do. And I think he's happy. He seems really happy here now."

"Wait," Emma's brain wraps around the concept, "do you honestly think I am trying to take him away from you? After how hard we worked, together, to get him back? I know how much you love him because I was the one sitting next to you crying over him being kidnapped. I'm not trying to take him away from you. I know you take care of him. I know you've _always_ taken care of him."

"Then I don't understand why you won't let this go."

"Jesus Christ, Regina. I won't let it go because I want to help you."

"I don't want your help."

"Because you think I'm going to get the upper-hand, or something?"

"Yes."

And suddenly Emma realizes—it all makes perfect sense. Regina won't talk to her because she genuinely believes that Emma holds the power to take her son away. And this is _not_ how Emma wants it to be—she has to find a way to even the playing field. Emma knows Regina craves control—because she's never really had it. But they have to have _equal _control over their son, she knows that now.

"Look, what you said yesterday...you're right...I'm definitely not better than you. And I'm not trying to be. I swear I'm not trying to 'save you' or any of that crap. I'm trying to help because I know what it's like and I'm not sure there is anyone in this town who can relate to you like I can."

"Yeah?" Regina studies her face, searching for honesty. "You can relate?"

"I never went through this, exactly. But, I mean, I had a lot of my own issues about not being good enough. I could even tell you more about them sometime if you want. I really liked talking to you on the way to Neverland even though we were both giant messes."

"I can't shake her voice, you know...even though she's gone."

"Cora?" Emma takes a guess. "Is she the one who put this in your head?"

"The first thing she did when she got to town was ask what I had done for 28 years besides fail to kill Snow and gain ten pounds."

"She didn't have her heart."

"Which means that she spoke the truth, no matter how harsh."

"No, that's not it…she was trying to break you so you would be vulnerable enough to let her back into your life."

"She showed up here and made me feel all of the things I felt when I was younger all over again."

"Did you struggle with this when you were younger?"

"Yes."

"She came back and so did all the crap," Emma says. "I get it. It's called relapse."

"Relapse after all this time?"

"Yeah—it happens to the best of us. But now she's really gone and you can move on from all of this."

"It wasn't just her...I once overheard the King tell his court that I wasn't quite as thin as his Eva..."

"He's gone, too."

"Yes," Regina whispers, "he's gone too."

"Have you talked to Archie about any of this?"

"I think that this is above Archie. He listens, he wants to help and he gives me good advice. I actually think I am even beginning to even consider him a friend. But he...he is no doctor, Emma. He's not a _real_ one."

"We can go to a real doctor if you want," she suggests. "We can go out of Storybrooke."

"Yes and when they ask about my relationship with my mother shall I explain the way she tortured me with _magic_?"

"But we can work around that. She was abusive and you can talk about that without talking about magic. We can figure something out. "

"What is all this 'we' talk?"

"Regina, please, I won't tell anyone. I won't tell Henry or my parents or literally one single soul. Just let me be here for you—it's not about being the savior it's just about me caring about you."

"I want to trust you. I almost do trust you. But…_almost_."

And Emma gets that—because no matter how hard they try there are things that exist between them that will not be easily forgotten.

"Regina, can I tell you about my last few days?"

"Alright—go ahead."

"I couldn't pay attention to a movie, because I was too busy worrying about you. I used Henry's history paper as an excuse to come to your house and check on you. I went to Archie to try to get him to tell me if you were alright; he wouldn't say a word, by the way. I went through your stuff which is actually beyond creepy. Then I went to my ex-boyfriend's father, the dark one, for help. Oh, and my ex-boyfriend basically called me a stalker- which is, coincidentally, the same thing our son called me at dinner the other night."

"I'm sorry that I've caused your week to be chaotic."

"No, you're not getting my point."

"What _is _your point?"

"That Neal is right. And Henry is right. And when Mary-Margaret was acting like this with David, I told her the same damn thing."

"What, on earth, are you suggesting?"

"Relax, I'm not comparing us to them, or anything."

"That's a good start."

"I think my point is that…that Henry loves you no matter what. I don't even think you see how much he loves you and believes in you. I know that _I_ care about what happens to you. And I know that the closest I've felt to belonging somewhere is when I'm with you and the kid. I look forward to the days when I know I'm going to get to see you."

"I find myself looking forward to them as well."

"So then all I'm asking is for you to let me make sure you don't go through this alone. And I'm trying to get you to understand that you can more than _almost _trust me. And I definitely more than almost trust you."

"Alright."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

Emma steps forward and wraps her arms around Regina, pulling her into a hug. They've only hugged once before—when they rescued Henry. That first hug had been quick and spontaneous and in the heat of the moment.

But this hug is different. It is slow and soft and tentative and comforting to them both.

The hug is different. They're different. Everything is different.

Neither one of them is alone.


End file.
